


Dollar For Your Sadness

by c00kieEater



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Depression, Don’t read this if any of those trigger you, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Mark needs a hug, Sad, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, This is going to be sad, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00kieEater/pseuds/c00kieEater
Summary: It’s been a week since Amy broke up with him, without any explanation, any lead-up or warning.A week of icy cold nothing. A week of burning hot anger. A week of seething white pain.And Mark’s not sure if anything’s going to get better.
Relationships: Past Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, Amy is a sweetheart and she would never, _ever_ do this in real life. They’re totally in love and it shows in their videos, I’m very happy Mark found her. I’m doing this for the sake of angst and only angst, if you’re here for Amy bashing you aren’t in the right place, because Amy isn’t going to be the villain of this story.

He felt numb.

The video for the day was recorded and ready for editing, the fact, usually, graced him with a kind of satisfaction that made his body tingle, but it was strangely absent this time around. The game he had played was a humorous one, and he laughed heartily at it the whole way through, not even needing to exaggerate any of his reactions. Though that didn’t explain the cold feeling of nothingness appearing and spreading in his chest like a spiderweb as soon as he told his goodbyes and shut the camera off.

Mark, internally, compared himself to a video game character that wasted all of its mana, and now was waiting for it to replenish so he could waste it again. The comparison, though, wasn’t a fun one, because real people didn’t have mana, and the thing he lacked was joy.

It was strange. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

He did have these strange spells going on and off when he was younger, sticking to his soul like invisible, black glue, but not since 2 years ago. 

And Mark thought that he knew the reason for that, but thinking about it, about _her_ , hurt a little too much. Not in a million years did he think that Amy would walk away from him so suddenly and without any kind of explanation.

He, the lovesick puppy that he was, didn’t think it was serious at first. Why would she, all of a sudden, decide he wasn’t worth her time? And he desperately clung to every bit of hope that what happened wasn’t real, that it was a cruel prank of some sort that Amy and Ethan decided to play on him and upload to Unus Annus, maybe she just needed a time out, or... or... _anything, everything else but falling out of love with him._

But... is there even such thing as falling _out_ of love? He was a pretty understanding person, even when he added the part where Wilford stole Actor Mark’s wife, Celine, he made sure to say that it was completely Celine’s decision, and she was a grown woman that could decide who she wanted to be with. Though now... faced with that kind of situation in real life, he understood why Actor Mark went insane, because this, in fact, was maddening.

He tried to reach out, talk to her, demand an explanation. He wrote, and called, and asked her friends, but none of them answered. He was ignored by every and each of them. 

And Mark felt... for lack of a better word, like _trash_ , something that was used and thrown away when it stopped being entertaining.

It changed during the day.

He could feel like trash, he could feel numb, like he did at the moment, he could feel his heart _hurting_ in a strange way that he hadn’t felt ever before. 

And it wasn’t his first heartbreak, far from it, but... this time felt very different, because, as he said, there was no such thing as falling _out_ of love. And he did love her. Very much.

Mark sighed, sending the video file to Lixian to edit, and decided to shuffle back to his bedroom. When the small distance to their/his bedroom door was breached, Mark put his hand on the doorknob and froze. Did he really want to enter? How many happy memories were buried six feet under in that room? How many wounds did entering that room reopen every time?

He immediately changed his mind and almost ran from the door like it had a serial killer hiding behind it, ready to pounce if Mark opened it, and went to the living room, falling on the sofa, closing his eyes.

The break up happened over a week ago. And he wasn’t even the slightest bit over it. It didn’t hurt any less than it had hurt at first. Everything just seemed... so _bland_ ever since she left, like there was an invisible vacuum sucking the color from the world, and he was the only one that could see it.

He felt incredibly cold all the time. And no LA weather, clothing or heat could warm him up, because the cold was coming from all the way inside him, turning his blood to icicles. 

If the Hanahaki disease was a real thing, he would be coughing up flowers now. And with that thought in tow, Mark’s breathing evened and he went to sleep, the third time in the whole week.

The sleep was, surprisingly, relaxing, albeit short, as Mark had forgotten that Ethan was due in 2 hours to film another episode of Unus Annus, and the ring of the doorbell woke him up.

Mark groaned tiredly. He needed the sleep he was so grandiosely lacking on, and he began to curse his decision to film every day for a year. He couldn’t lack on videos, as it would raise questions from the fanbase, and he didn’t have any prerecorded ones. Everything was weighing him down, he felt as if a sword was hanging above his head, any wrong move and it would fall.

The doorbell rang again.

“Fuck...” 

Mark groaned again, rubbing his eyes as if there was wet sand stuck in them, and stood up.

As he thought, it was Ethan behind the door. Energetic and hyper as always. Sometimes he thought that Ethan worked on rocket fuel, and he honestly needed some of that shit.

“Hi, Mark—“ Ethan greeted him and immediately changed his expression from the happy hyper boi to a concerned hyper boi, “—you look like shit, dude.”

That was true. Mark’s hair was ruffled and oily, the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they were the day before, and he hadn’t changed his clothes.

“You looked bad yesterday, but you look like shit _now_.”

Mark just half-lidded his eyes, however much that was possible with his Korean genes.

“Okay, man, I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking.”

Mark’s words were laced with heavy sarcasm, almost biting. He bickered with Ethan daily, and it openly showed in their videos, but at the moment his words weren’t filled with friendliness, and Ethan knew it.

“I know you’re having a hard time, Mark, but you don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“Sorry... sorry... I—“ Mark shuffled from foot to foot, head hanged in shame because he lost control of his emotions again, “I’m just— sorry.”

He couldn’t tell Ethan that he wasn’t in the best of spirits, to put it lightly, because Ethan knew it already, and it would be another excuse for his jerkish behavior. That was the last thing people around him needed, and Mark knew that he was becoming unbearable for some people to be around. Even his fans noticed that something changed the last few days, especially on the interview he made 2 days after what happened.

“It’s okay, Mark, really, I get it, don’t worry about it.”

Ethan hit him lightly on the shoulder, probably to lift his spirits up. It didn’t help, but Mark appreciated his trying, and the though put a small smile on his face.

“That’s more like it, you look cuter this way. C’mon, what are we filming today?”

Ethan’s cheerfulness was more contagious than the plague, and Mark involuntarily chuckled at his words.

“I was thinking about this thing someone on Tumblr suggested...”

And so Mark explained the idea someone shared on Tumblr of putting traffic cones on their head and throwing donut shaped discs on them. Who got more discs on the cone won.

Nothing was at the stake this time, though. No real challenge like with deleting a video from the channel of the loser. They bought the cones, god knows from where, and the discs.

Mark won.

After wrapping everything up, Ethan bid his goodbyes with Mark and Chica and went home. Usually he would stick around a little, discuss with Mark some things they can tell Lixian to edit in, or how the thumbnail should be done, but he felt like Mark needed space. 

And he was right, or so Mark thought. Maybe loneliness wasn’t really the best idea at the moment.

It was becoming late already. Lixian sent him the finished version of the video he had to upload the next day, and he thanked the man, as it was, as always, very well edited even without any instructions from Mark.

This time Mark didn’t hesitate to get into _his_ bedroom and lay down on the cold sheets of _his_ bed.

He felt numb again.

The room was so cold... so _chilling_ without her. He tossed and turned and shuffled and trashed on the bed, but couldn’t get comfortable in any way. The once soft mattress felt like a sturdy piece of rock under his body, his pillow felt like a round log under his head. Everything was wrong.

He stood up so fast the covers flew to the floor. He didn’t even notice they were on him he was so cold. 

Mark’s breath hitched, body shaking as his hands gripped his hair in a firm grip, pulling them painfully, and he leaned his head on the wall to steady himself. 

What did he do wrong? Was he too annoying? Too sappy? Did he talk too much? Did he ignore her? Did she leave him because she found someone else? Someone better? Have they been meeting up this whole time behind his back? Had she been cheating on him? Did she even _love_ him? Was any of what they had _real?!_

The air was ringing.

_Why was it ringing?!_

At that moment Mark remembered the Presidental Fitness Challenge video, they way punching the wall immediately calmed him down, made him forget his anger and replaced it with sweet and sharp pain.

And so he hit the wall. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Full force. Every hit being followed by a defiant yell of desperation at his own misery. The pain didn’t register until the fifth hit, and it all suddenly washed over him in a millisecond. The thumping, sickly sweet pain that made him feel like he might vomit, the absolute agony of losing a significant other and not knowing _why_ , the poor wall that had nothing to do with his patheticness, and the fact that he might’ve broken a finger or two.

With everything attacking him at once, he couldn’t do anything but slide down the wall, put his head in his hands and wail miserably.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, new chapter just for you!

The nurse looked at him with pity.

Mark was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair as a petite, young woman bandaged his hand. And, really, she did have a reason to look at him with pity, because he, in fact, looked pitiful.

Hair messier than every, sticking in different directions like hedgehog needles, eyes red, blotchy, and incredibly sad. The skin on his hand had flaked off, leaving angry, red wounds in its wake. He had 1 cracked and 2 broken fingers. The doctors had an X-ray done to be sure. 

It was very incredibly stupid of him to think that he could challenge the wall and get out of that fight a winner, but he didn’t think, he acted, and he was ashamed to admit that the pain did calm and ground him after the initial breakdown.

How is he going to explain to his fans that he won’t be able to play games with two hands, or play games at all for some time? He could say that the bandages are from prerecorded videos he had done after the presidential fitness challenge video, but they’re going to stay on his arm for a few months, recording _that_ much videos in a week, without any reason, was a shaky excuse. He had to come up with a lie, as much as it hurt him to admit, but he couldn’t share this particular thing with everybody. He had to be careful about things that could affect others, there are always people that will take what he said in a different context, and it doesn’t matter how much he says otherwise.

“How’d you manage to damage your hand so bad?”

The nurse’s question startled Mark out of the little limbo of thoughts he was in. Maybe to distract him from the pain he wasn’t feeling. Was it because they gave him painkillers? He couldn’t quite remember. His initial reaction was to say it wasn’t any of her business, but that might’ve gotten him in additional trouble, moreover, it would be incredibly rude, and the woman was just doing her job. He really shouldn’t bug her with his inability to be a normal human being.

“Wanted to hit the punching ball. Hit the wall instead.”

His answer was short and to the point, even though it was a lie. 

The nurse looked at him strangely from the corner of her eye. 

Was it because of the defeated tone of his voice? He should’ve thought about it before opening his mouth, added a little mirth to it, maybe some flirt to show he was amused at what he had stupidly done... he was an idiot.

To get a hold of the situation, Mark quickly put his uninjured hand on the back of his head, rubbing it clumsily, and gave her one of his famous, heart melting grins. He had perfected that particular one in the long years of doing YouTube to show - even when he wasn’t in the mood or didn’t feel like smiling at all.

“You seem to hit a lot of walls these days.”

Something inside Mark froze, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but something surely turned to crisp. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, he had almost 25 million followers from all around the world, the fact that he would meet one of those followers wasn’t that big of a deal. Of course she had watched the video where he got angry and demolished his wall.

“You’re a subscriber of mine.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a fact, and Mark matched his tone to his statement.

“Not as much yours, as of Unus Annus.” She shrugged, considerate of Mark’s hand, not to injure it further, “I like to watch the next mind blowing insanity you and Ethan come up with, it helps me relax after work.”

“Do you like it so far?” 

He honestly wanted to know that. Mark didn’t have a chance to meet someone that watched solely Unus Annus, so that their opinion isn’t biased because they like either him or Ethan.

“Very funny and entertaining, but there are videos I couldn’t muster, like drinking your pee and all, makes me feel Spanish shame.”

Mark winced at that, truly, not his greatest point.

“Also all the talk about the inevitability of death, and how we should do everything we want while we can makes me both uneasy and determined.”

“Why so?”

She pursed her lips a bit, trying to concentrate on both his arm and the conversation.

“Determined, because life is short, we should enjoy it while we can, and uneasy, because I begin to understand that death can sweep any of us at any moment. It won’t discriminate.” 

He understood her. He really did. We can die any moment of any day. Human bodies are as fragile as they are resilient. It’s all a cruel game of luck. A lottery of who’s gonna be next one, and Mark has been evading death for a long time, he played hide and seek with the Grim Reaper since his birth, it just surprised him that he always seemed to come out a winner. 

He was tired of it, what if he just stopped trying so hard? Maybe it’ll make everything easier.

“Pretty uneasy, indeed...”

* * *

It was already morning by the time he reached his house. As he stood in front of it, the rising sun shining behind it, it looked like it was made out of cardboard. Not actually real. Empty. It left a bitter taste in Mark’s mouth, the house seemed so unwelcoming from this angle.

He entered it anyway. Chica greeted him happily, waggling her tail around him, circling him cheerfully. 

“Hello, good girl, did you miss your daddy?”

Mark crouched and hugged the big golden dog, petting her with one hand as she licked his face. He chuckled, smiling brightly. 

Chica was his sunshine on a gloomy day. The perfect companion one can ask for, and he loved her dearly. But it was as if Chica sensed his inner sadness, and she put one of her paws on his chest, right where his heart is, and the second one followed suit, so she was leaning on Mark, and put her head on his shoulder.

Mark’s heart melted a little at that, she was trying her best to hug him, so he returned the favor, encompassing her in a tight and warm hug.

“I love you too, Chunka-bunka.”

It amazed him how a being that couldn’t speak could show her love for someone else so clearly.

They stayed like that for some time, but as much as it pained him to admit, he had to let go so he could feed her, upload the morning video, film a new one and hope that he will be able to get a few hours sleep before Ethan came along.

So he did just that.

He fed Chica, and asked her to forgive him as he wasn’t in the right shape to take her for a walk, and for the fact that he could see Chica missed Henry, whom Amy took with her. Alas, he couldn’t do anything about that.

Uploaded the video he filmed the day before, but when it came to filming a new one he found himself at an impasse. He can’t film with one hand, given what he broke were his index and middle fingers, and the one that cracked was his ring finger. At least his thumb and pinky were fine.

He could use the videos he prerecorded for a black day, but it would show like a sore thumb, his fans were able to tell when the video was filmed by his fucking _haircut_. That would rise questions, and he would have to show them his broken hand sometime, so maybe it was better to do it from the beginning?

Mark sighed.

This was difficult.

He did the only rational thing he could at the moment.

Mark dragged his phone out of his right pocket with his left hand, and, very uncomfortably, took a photo of his bandaged fingers.

All the fingers that were hurt in his little tantrum were tightly bandaged and splinted to each other so he couldn’t move and damage them further. 

He posted the photo on Twitter with a caption, ‘Sorry, guys, no video tomorrow.’ And considered the problem solved for the meantime. It didn’t even cross his mind that all his friends could see the photo, and he didn’t really bother with telling anyone else.

He stood there a little, reading the first responses to his tweet. They were worried, of course they were. Some demanded an explanation, some joked sarcastically about his clumsiness, someone even wrote a joke about him hitting the wall again, and that person couldn’t even imagine how right they were.

Eventually, he got bored, and locked his phone.

Maybe he can take Chica for a walk? But the thought was followed by a very sleepy yawn, and Mark understood that he couldn’t force himself off the sofa. Well then, he can close his eyes for a few minutes... he didn’t sleep for the whole night, after all.

His sleep wasn’t as nice as it was the day before, it was almost delirious, filled with nightmares that seemed to change faster than he would have the strength to wake up. He ran and ran and ran _and ran_ , even though he didn’t know from what, and only when the thing chasing him reached him, only when he felt its chilling and dead breath on his shoulder did he only wake up. Or startled awake, would be more accurate.

It took him a great 10 seconds to catch his breath, during that time he tried to pass his hand through his hair, only to succeed in hitting himself on the forehead with the splint and aggravating his fingers. It took him another 5 to realize someone was beside him and was gripping his shoulder. 

Still not really over the dream Mark immediately threw himself to the opposite side of the couch like a scared animal being hunted by a tiger. 

“Mark? _Mark!_.”

Only when he was able to take a good look at the intruder did he notice it was Ethan, not some scary monster from his closet.

“Mark?”

Ethan came close to him and snapped his fingers in front of Mark’s face, trying to get any reaction out of the older man.

“Y-yeah?” He stuttered miserably, wincing at his own inability to get his breathing under control.

“You okay there, man?” 

Mark didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded.

“That was one hell of a dream you were having, sorry for freaking you out.”

There was actual remorse and regret in Ethan’s voice. The boy, most of the time, was an open book, he didn’t try to hide his emotions away.

“It’s ok,” his voice was scratchy, he didn’t like it, “how’d you get in?”

“The door was open, so I kinda thought you were expecting me.”

Mark squeezed his eyes, and almost facepalmed, not a good idea with his hand, at forgetting to lock the door after he came in. He then looked at the time on his phone. Besides the time he saw a missed call by Ethan and Wade. Though it wasn’t the time Ethan usually came by.

“So, why’d you come early?”

“You posted that photo on Twitter of your hand, and said there would be no video tomorrow, so I thought I’d come and we’d get the video done with sooner. Tried calling you too, but you didn’t answer.”

Mark shook his head a little, trying to clear it from the fog of sleep.

“Hey, Mark?”

He looked up.

“What’d you do to your hand, again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is solely holding on your comments and kudos, so if you want a continuation, leave your thoughts down there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not dead, I promise.

“Huh?”

It was the only (not) coherent thing he was able to push out of his mouth moments after Ethan had asked him about what he had done to his hand.

His sight quickly wormed from Ethan’s prying eyes to his bandaged fingers.

Huh indeed. 

It struck him that he hadn’t bothered to think about a believable excuse to present his friends when they, eventually, asked him about what had happened to it. To his fans, he could just evade answering truthfully, or answering all together, but he can’t evade a direct question asked to him from one of his friends, especially if he was face to face with them.

He was an idiot. How could he be such a stupid piece of _shi—_

It was at moments like this that he hated how excuses would not come to the forefront of his mind because of the panic that had already booked a room and made itself comfortable in there.

It was at moments like this that he wanted to take a mixer to his own fucking brain and maybe make a stew out of it or something, because it sure as hell would be more useful that way than if it stayed in his big, retarded head—

“This is gonna sound stupid as hell, but I accidentally punched a wall.”

Why, oh god, Mark, _why_ couldn’t you come up with something more believable?!

Technically, he told the truth, the lie laid in the fact that it wasn’t accidental at all, but _how do you even **accidentally** punch a fucking wall_.

Think, Mark, _think fast_. 

It would’ve been easier if a little plushie of Tiny Box Tim had slammed itself into his face. Maybe Ethan would’ve gotten distracted and forgotten about what he had wanted to know initially even.

“Why do I feel deja vu?” He asked instead, half snickering, “How’d you even manage to _accidentally_ punch a wall?”

This is what he feared.

The question was said half seriously, Ethan’s tone both amused and curious, though it was obvious he didn’t think Mark was lying. He was sure Mark had been being his good ol’ clumsy self and injured himself in some way without meaning to. And that hurt... really bad. Ethan trusted him, believed that he would confide in him if he needed it. And here he was, lying to his friend’s face.

“I mean, you would need a special kind of skill in clumsiness to hit a wall _accidentally_.”

Shit. How do you accidentally punch a wall? He hadn’t thought this through at all.

Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

“Well, I think I can consider that particular achievement unlocked.” Mark said, mustering all the inner power he had left to slide a fake smile onto his face and make it look real, “if I hear you laugh at what I’m going to tell you right now I swear I will break what other fingers I have left on your face, Ethan.”

His voice was humorous, not even a slight bit of seriousness bleeding in, because he didn’t want Ethan to think he was being serious. And that’s how he was going to bullshit his way out of this one, by being a clown. 

He couldn’t help but think that he had become a master in that particular art.

Ethan made a face that told him he was definitely going to _not_ heed his warning and moved his hand in a ‘go on’ motion.

“I was flexing my muscles... checking myself, hitting air. I spun around too fast and didn’t register that there was a wall I front of me— so this... kinda... happened,” finished Mark, spinning his splinted hand in front of Ethan’s face.

“Ah, instant karma, I love those.”

“Shut up, you’re just jealous.”

“Brain over brawn, Mark—“

“I still have two unhurt fingers left, Ethan, let’s see if my body can handle breaking them too—“

* * *  
Ethan seemed to buy his explanation about how he mutilated his hand, and they set on filming another video. 

It was a boring one, in his opinion. Or maybe he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to actually enjoy what he was doing. The fact is he was ecstatic when they initially came up with the idea for the video, but now, when they were actually filming it, he only wished for the day to be over so he could go to his room, call Wade, lie to his face too, and lay on his bed feeling like absolute trash for having been untruthful to both his close friends. 

That is exactly what happened, and he secretly hoped Wade would tell Bob the lies he whispered into his ear, so Bob would leave him the hell alone and he wouldn’t have to bullshit his way out of that one either. Wade and Ethan may not be the most perceptive of guys, but Bob was. He caught most things on the fly. If Wade told him the badly made up story he may think that Wade spun it around a little or heard something wrong, but if he _himself_ had to face his friend it might go completely opposite to the way he wanted it to.

Bob didn’t even message him that day, and Mark thanked the universe for small mercies. Actually holding a conversation with someone seemed so stressful to him. Sleep might help, but his mind was on high alert all the time, telling him that there had to be someone beside him. Some detail was missing, a warmth usually radiating from the other side of the bed was lacking.

Where is it, where is it, _where?_

The fact is— _he didn’t fucking know_ , and it was driving him insane, this being left in the dark thing. 

Maybe going to the couch would help? It didn’t hold as much memories as his bed. Sure, they shared it together a couple of times - like when they fell asleep after binging Disney or some other stupid sappy thing like that - but they didn’t use it as a regular resting place. If it didn’t help his last resort would be pushing two armchairs together and trying to make a makeshift bed that way.

The sofa, it seemed, was marginally better. Not in the sense of comfort, no, but his body didn’t automatically assume that there was a universal law about another human being having to cuddle him in bed so the monsters wouldn’t snatch him away to the their closet at night. Sleeping in their bed screamed at him that there was something wrong, wrongwrongwrongwrong—

He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *  
Nightmares weren’t something new to Mark. He had them regularly, and considering all the horror games he played daily, it really wasn’t that surprising. 

These new ones, though, were more than horrifying.

Because they weren’t scary.

They were _cosy_.

They were of him and Amy snuggling up as close as possible, sharing bodily warmth, listening to each other’s heartbeats, holding hands and making promises of love and faithfulness, and eternity dedicated to each other.

But what was an eternity if it was plunged in darkness? What was an eternity without somebody to share it with? 

Amy was his light, his love, his everything. 

How was he supposed to move on from this? 

What little he wouldn’t give of what he had just to feel her brush his hair away from his face, to feel her petite fingers stroke his cheek in that affectionate manner that only Amy had mastered. Her skin, oh her skin, smooth and soft like the finest of silk. Lips so plump and red. Eyes that took his heart prisoner and wouldn’t let go even now when he couldn’t see them.

What was he going to do...?

He had so many questions and so little answers that it scared him half to death. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, his heart and her absence. If he couldn’t let go of her, how was he going to live the rest of his life with this _pain_? 

How, oh God, how?

He woke up as something wet trailed from his eye down his cheek and to his ear. He blinked, trying to get the intrusive thing away, only to send a lot more of them sliding down. Only then did he realize he’d been crying in his sleep. Wishing deep inside his head for the colorful images of her exquisite face to be real.

A cracked inhale was all he was fast enough to allow himself before his body broke into gut wrenching sobs, shaking him from head to toe. There was an ache that ran deep... deep down to his very core, to his soul, to the most hidden and delicate part of it that he had been keeping under lock and key, and opened up only for _her_.

His heart was bleeding from the burning wounds her abandonment had left on it, and burns hurt more than anything else in the world.

Falling asleep on the couch was definitely a bad idea. Or, more accurately, _falling asleep_ at all was a disastrously bad idea. He should refrain from doing it in the future.

The only thing he could do was curl into himself, cry his soul out of his eyes, and wait for the morning rays of the sun to finally shine on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments, please, the more there are the faster the next chapter arrives. 
> 
> I hope you liked it. 
> 
> Poor Mark ;-;

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue this? What do you think? Please leave your thoughts, just do it constructively.


End file.
